


What Sin Had Wrought

by MoMoMomma



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Implied/Referenced Torture, Multi, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 13:31:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19813303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoMoMomma/pseuds/MoMoMomma
Summary: The Seeds managed to pull Rook into the bunker before the bombs came down. And now that it's time to pay the piper for all that he's done to try and save Hope County, Rook finds himself in the darkest of his days. But there is always light.The problem is, a light for him is almost guaranteed to be a darkness for the Seeds.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [9shadowcat9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/9shadowcat9/gifts).



> I know you saw the soulmate AU tag and went "Sweet!" But please make sure you read all tags! This is not a happy soulmate fic, this is a look at what happens when soulmate isn't enough to erase the past.

Rook’s life is over. 

Not in terms of death, though he’d be honest and say it would be preferable to his current circumstances. He didn’t die physically, but he can feel his mind slowly accepting the fact that he’s not going to make it out of this in one piece. 

He isn’t going to be the same person when the sirens stop going off and he emerges back into the world.

The three men in front of him will make sure of that. 

Joseph’s leaning back in the chair that’s a few scant feet away from him, his brothers bracketing him on either side. It’s a terrible callback to the night that started all of this and Rook feels the bile rise in his throat alongside the panic. No one’s spoken much yet, all of them too busy listening to the repeat message on the radio telling them to seek shelter.

This is not a drill. This is real life. Joseph was, somehow, right. Rook doesn’t have a fucking clue how but...he was right.

“You fought so hard. For so long.” Joseph finally murmurs, waving a hand in the air. “And for what? You could no more stop God’s plans than you could fight the rising tide.”

Rook doesn’t respond. Isn’t sure he could even if he wanted to. His throat feels like it’s swollen shut, fear pumping through his veins, making his arms shake where they’re chained to the wall. He’s out-numbered and out-gunned here. There isn’t a single thing he can do, no more options to rail against the insanity of the Seed brothers. 

“I was _right_.” It’s a whisper, a tease, and Rook has to grind his teeth together to stop the anxiety bile from rising up his throat. 

“Was it worth it?” It’s Jacob this time, his voice no less threatening, the same amount of cruel mockery in his tone. “All that fighting and running around, trying to be the hero. And all it did was get everyone you cared about killed. No one’s gonna make it if they’re not prepared.”

“And we,” John gestures around the bunker, “ _were_ prepared. Just like we said we would be. And now that God’s righteous fire will cleanse the Earth, we will follow Joseph into the New Eden that you tried so hard to destroy.”

Joseph makes a small, considering hum. Eyes darting between John and Rook. It’s enough to have Rook making a choked noise in the back of his throat, animal and hurt. He can only guess what’s going on in Joseph’s head right now, now that he’s finally got Rook where he wanted him all this time.

And none of his guesses end in anything but agony and suffering for him.

“We have judged those who wished to walk through the gates with us. Cleansed the souls of the few we found acceptable. To fail to do so for you, Rook, would be...disrespectful. To both the people who have fought to be accepted into our ranks and to God himself.”

Oh god.

“Just kill me.” Rook whispers softly, eyes fluttering closed as he tries to force himself into somewhere else.

Mania, maybe. If he breaks his mind, snaps it in two, maybe he’ll be too out of it to suffer. Maybe they’ll just kill him out of pity. 

Or maybe, if he tries hard enough, he can stop his own damn heart. 

“And what sort of reward would that be?” He hears footsteps moments before John cups his chin, shakes him so hard Rook’s forced to open his eyes. “After all, you worked so _hard_ to get where you are. What sort of people would we be if we didn’t...reward all that persistence?”

“What are you going to do to me?” Rook has to ask, has to know.

Forewarned is forearmed. If he has any intention of making it out of this alive...he needs to know.

“Let us concern ourselves with what is necessary to scrub your misdeeds from your soul.” Joseph says quietly, finally rising from the chair and pulling John back with a firm hand on his shoulder. 

Rook, foolishly, almost wants to call them back as they all stride towards the door. This room isn’t much more than a prison cell. Just the manacles that chain him to the wall and concrete walls that are already threatening to close in on him. Having the brothers in his face was far from ideal but the idea of being left alone in here…

“Think upon your sins, Rook.” Joseph says over his shoulder as Jacob and John file out in the hall before him, something close to a twisted smile on his lips. “And we shall see if you are worthy of the New Eden.”

The door closes. And the room goes so black Rook immediately feels like someone put a railroad spike in his eye as his vision tries to abruptly adjust.

Oh god. Fuck.

“I’m going to die here.” He says quietly to himself, then a little louder, tipping his head back against the wall. 

It hurts. So much of his body hurts. Lungs and head and limbs. One big ache that’s condensing in the dark to pounding pain, like it was just waiting for him to not be able to see before it attacked.

“God? If you’re out there...if you’re real...I’m not a religious man. But this can’t be...this can’t be what you want for the world. And I’m not gonna make any bullshit promises like going to church or stuffing hundreds in the donation basket but...if you get me out of this alive, I’ll believe. Truly believe.”

Rook lets his eyes drift closed. No point in keeping them open when he can’t see anything, after all. He doesn’t have anything close to the Seed’s insane belief in a higher power. 

But maybe...just maybe…

.O.

There is no God. Or, at least, not one that Rook’s ever gonna feel comfortable praying to. 

The Seeds left him in that room for at least two days. It’s a blessing and curse that Rook’s watch managed to survive all the kidnapping and subsequent beating. He knows exactly how much time has ticked by since Joseph shut the door with a childlike sort of amusement. Knows the minutes and hours that he was left alone, pain growing worse and joined by other pains that he knows intimately well from his time with Jacob.

His lips are so dry that the scrape of his tongue over them hurts. His stomach is a gnawing pit between his hips, pulsing with every shift of his exhausted body. Rook’s taken to sleeping for a good portion of his capture, trying to take the edge off the...everything. 

Each time, he prays he just won’t wake up. But since there’s no God, there’s no one to answer those desperate pleas.

Nearly 48 hours on the nose from the time Rook was locked into darkness, the door is thrown open so suddenly he jolts, head knocking into the wall behind him. It aches, so does the light that nearly blinds him to the man in the door jambs. 

“Deputy Rook! So sorry to have kept you waiting.” John steps inside and Rook closes his eyes, half out of desire to protect his poor retinas and partly to hope if he pretends hard enough to be dead, John will go away. 

“Well, aren’t you a sight. Honestly, I don’t know how Jacob does it.”

No such luck. 

Rook hears other footsteps, cracks his eyes open in time to see two of the burlier members of Eden’s Gate kneeling down on either side of him. He doesn’t even bother resisting when they unlock him from the chains on the wall, yanking him to his feet so roughly his teeth click together.

John leads the way out into the hall and down it, past a few members who stare at him with enough hatred that Rook, if he weren’t so exhausted, might have flinched. Past the numerous scrawlings of “The Father Was Right!” on the walls and the provisions that Eden’s Gate stole from the people of Hope County to survive what’s going on right now. 

Honestly, the sight of a communal shower shouldn’t make Rook want to cry. But he swallows past a suddenly tight throat and, for once, doesn’t bother to even murmur a few choice phrases as the Peggies pull his clothes off. John’s standing a few showerheads away, watching it all with eyes that gleam of something far too sinful for a religious man. 

The water is freezing cold, so sudden Rook lets out a little cry and curls into himself. He doesn’t try to move back though, fully aware that this is probably a luxury he won’t be afforded very often. The Peggies are rough and impersonal as they scrub him down, making Rook feel a little like a farm animal that needs to be made pretty in time for auction.

Still. It’s human contact, brutal as it might be. And after more than a few hours alone, without even sight to help distract him, Rook will take it. 

So what if he knows, in his mind, he’s like a beaten dog begging for pets on the off chance one will be gentle? 

He’s past arrogance. Past caring what others think of him. Even this early, this is a game of survival and nothing else. 

“I trust you won’t object to clean clothes.”

There’s a smile on John’s face as Rook’s yanked from under the spray, stood in front of him and shivering so hard he’s shaking in place. At least he managed a few swallows of water while he was there and the cold has helped the rawness of his throat just a bit. The last thing he wants is to wear the Eden’s Gate clothes that John’s currently holding in his hands, but what other options does he have?

He’d rather eat his filthy clothes than put them back on his body. And he needs something to cover him fairly quick. It’s already cold in here, let alone after being soaked in frigid water, and Rook’s at a real risk for losing feelings in some limbs if he doesn’t get dressed soon.

Of course, he’s not allowed to dress himself. The Peggies probably think he’ll haul off and punch John the second he’s allowed any amount of movement. But soon enough he’s clothed, albeit not nearly as dry as he wants to be, hair still dripping onto his collar.

“Comfy?” John asks sweetly, Rook nodding without thinking. “Oh, well, we wouldn’t want that. Complacency is, after all, a sin. _Sloth_ is a sin.”

The haymaker comes out of nowhere and has Rook spitting blood onto the floor at John’s feet. He’s pretty sure there’s a cracked tooth in his mouth now, going by the sound of a crunch, or maybe just a broken jaw. The Peggies haul him back upright, the one who’d thrown the punch holding a tighter grip on his arm, like he’s restraining himself from punching Rook again.

“I thought perhaps doing something nice would be appreciated. But I see we still have _much_ work to do to scrub that soul of yours squeaky clean.”

John pats his cheek with a condescending smile before gesturing carelessly to the Peggies.

“Back to his room.”

Back to darkness. Back to nothing but his thoughts to entertain him. Rook doesn’t even bother dragging his feet, more than a little dazed from the lack of food and the sudden hit. The Peggies lock him up carefully once more, the muscles around his ribs stretching back into the awkward position and making every breath feel like agony. 

.O.

Rook’s read about torture. Read about how people try to break someone, break them mind and body and soul. Underwent, what he thought at the time, was just that at Jacob’s hands. Thought he knew what true suffering and torture was in the cages and the red of _Only You_.

He was wrong.

Every single day it’s something. Something that makes Rook wish he’d just been out of the bunker when the bombs had dropped. Whether it’s John carving sins into him that bleed sluggishly and are re-opened the second John thinks they’re healing too well or Jacob beating the shit out of him in the name of “training”. 

Joseph isn’t any kinder than his brothers. Always watching. Sometimes he comes and reads to Rook out of his stupid book. Reads and gifts him with little treats, small morsels of food or water as he makes his way through the passages. 

Sometimes Rook passes out midway through and Joseph makes his displeasure known by having a Peggie or one of his brothers wake him in a brutal way. Kicks to the ribs, soaked cloth held over his nose and mouth until he’s beet red and gasping air into lungs that hurt so badly Rook thinks he’ll never breathe right again. Nails raked over barely healed wounds. 

Occasionally, no one comes to him. No one bothers him for a full day, sometimes more. Rook...doesn’t like those days. It drives him into a dark place in his mind, a place that makes him wish someone-- _anyone_ \--would open up the door to his cell. Those days terrify him with the realization that all he has now, in this bunker and possibly in this world, is the Seeds and the Peggies. And if they grow bored of him, if they decide to just...leave him alone, like he’d snarled at them to do so many times before the world went to hell...that’s it for him. 

Rook will die alone and forgotten and that’s more painful than any torture the Seeds could heap upon him. 

He’s lying on his side, curled up on the cold floor and trying to breathe shallowly enough that his probably fractured ribs don’t scream in pain, when the door opens. Rook doesn’t bother looking up, though he’s curious about the quick pace of the feet that stomp towards him.

In a rush, apparently. Probably trying to make sure their little toy didn’t die during the night and ruin all their run. 

Rook groans when his wrist is seized and yanked away, curling his knees up into his chest. John is staring down at him with wild eyes when he glances up, trying to figure out how much pain he’s going to have to endure. 

“Show me the other one.”

Rook tries to comply without actually moving most of his body, untucking the other arm from under his head and extending it as best he can. It makes his ribs protest loudly enough Rook sees little black dots in the side of his vision, trying to blink them away as John looks over his arms with a deep enough frown it furrows his brow.

He’s not sure what John’s looking for. Isn’t sure he could actually see anything past the dirt and bruises that litter most of Rook’s flesh. His grip tightens, digging into the Pride that John had carved into the top part of his forearm not too long ago, the hot tickle of blood almost welcome in the cold room.

“Joseph will be by later. You...stay here.”

As if he’s magically going to go somewhere else?

Rook curls back into a ball the second John leaves, before wincing and stretching out onto his back. The movement had jostled his ribs in the worst way and Rook forces himself to take deep breaths despite the shooting pain it causes.

The last thing he needs is to develop pneumonia or something stupid like that. Here lies Rook, savior of Hope County--before it got bombed off the map. He survived everything the cult could throw at him and died because of a lack of proper medical care.

Maybe someone would use him as a warning to tell kids they had to go to the doctor. Rook feels like that would be a better legacy than the one of destruction and chaos he thinks he might leave behind.

True to John’s words, Joseph does visit. It’s...subdued. The whole energy about the man is different from anything else Rook has ever really seen. It’s close to what he remembers that very first night being, quiet danger, shadows that had teeth and wanted blood. 

He’s also alone. Joseph is _never_ alone. There’s always someone by his side, whether it’s one of his brothers or some Peggies. 

“Can you stand?”

Rook mutely nods and tries to force himself to at least sit. It makes everything ache, pound in dull waves that threaten to send him back down onto the floor. He’s shocked when Joseph grasps his arms and slowly helps him to his feet, tightening his grip when Rook sways in place.

Thank god they don’t chain him anymore. Probably figured he’s too broken to do much. Rook is fairly certain that he would have passed out if he’d have had to go through the aches of stretching his muscles out from being held in place for ages.

“Where are we--” 

Rook clears his throat and it’s a brutal sound. He’d forgotten how much his throat hurts now. Between the lack of water and the screams that everyone seems to take as small victories every time they can get him to utter one, he’s probably done irreparable damage to his vocal cords. He can already hear the rasp, the way his voice is deepened a few octaves from what it once was.

“Don’t try to speak.” Joseph says softly, _gently_. “We’re going to get you cleaned up and then into a proper room. Food, perhaps, if you think you can stomach it.”

What the hell is going on?

Rook is suspicious the whole time, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Showers with his back towards the wall, eyes on Joseph the whole time. It’s just them in the showers, for once, no one waiting to beat him for any imagined slight. The clothes he’s given are actual clothes, not tattered rags that someone had worn down to barely more than scraps of cloth. 

A warm sweater, some thick military style pants that don’t cut into the wounds on his thighs or hips. Socks that nearly make him tear up, so soft and gentle on raw skin. 

This has to be a trap. Rook’s certain of it once he’s led into a small room that’s so different from the one he’s been trapped in. There’s an actual bed in here, with a mattress and a pillow and a blanket that looks so warm and heavy that he immediately wants to curl up underneath it. It’s impersonal, no real effects to say this belongs to a higher ranked Peggie or one of the brothers.

But it’s a far cry from a destitute prison cell. 

“Please rest. Once you’ve gotten some adequate sleep, we will have a doctor see to your wounds and prescribe a proper diet that will safely ease you back into eating.”

Joseph bows his head just slightly, stepping backwards out of the room and closing the door, leaving Rook alone with his thoughts. Rook stares at the door for a long moment, exhausted and suspicious, but his pain wins, in the end.

Laying down on a mattress drags a groan out of his throat he thinks John would punish him for. Sinful and deep, almost scraping his throat raw. He turns onto his side, spots a water glass on the side table, and drains it before he can even think that it’s drugged or otherwise contaminated. 

Whatever is going on, it can wait. If this is some twisted Last Rites sort of thing, where Rook gets one night with a bed and food and water before the Seeds finally off him for good, he’ll take it. 

At least he can say he died in comfort. And if he doesn’t die, well...tomorrow he can figure out just what the hell made the Seeds turn heel. 

After he gets some actual proper sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Something is really wrong. Wrong in ways that Rook doesn’t really understand. 

He’s woken, around ten hours later by a quick check of his watch, by a rap of knuckles on the door. The man who steps through is a bit cleaner than the rest of the Peggies typically are, clothes free of rips or stains, hair pulled neatly back from his face. Jacob’s right on his heels and closes them in together, but he won’t meet Rook’s gaze.

Looks around the room instead. Like there’s anything interesting to be found there.

“Deputy Wylde? My name is Doctor Townsend, The Father has asked me to take a look at you.”

Rook sits up slowly, curls the blanket up around his waist, unwilling to give up the comfort so readily. He opens his mouth, clears his throat harshly, and tries to croak out a soft “Rook. Name’s Rook.”

“Of course.” The doctor steps closer, holds out a water bottle that Rook readily accepts and chugs like it’s the last drink he’ll ever get. “Would you mind taking off your shirt? I need to have a look at your wounds and see if any need to be bandaged.”

Rook complies, albeit slowly. He’s still achy and underneath the sweater, his ribs are a mix of bruises that stand out against the pale of his skin, sunlight not much more than a distant memory at this point. He swears he sees Jacob glance at him and wince, eyes dropping to his boots.

Good, he thinks fiercely for a split second, be guilty. Feel bad that you hurt someone. For once in your fucking life, pretend like you have a soul.

The doctor goes through all the regular vital checks, even pulling out a blood pressure cuff that makes Rook wince as it bites into bruises around his upper arms caused by the way a few Peggies had held him in place for one of Joseph’s storytimes. He’s frowning the whole time, probably unused to seeing such damage on a body that’s still living, and Rook shifts uneasily when he draws back to give him a long look.

“My ribs are broken.” He offers hoarsely, the words forced out past sore muscles. “Nothing else. My nose was but I set it, it’s fine.”

“Deputy--Rook. I’d like to bandage your wounds and give you something for pain. And I’d like to see you hydrate quite a bit and eat.”

Rook looks past the doctor, straight at where Jacob’s shoulders are going tight and his head rises until his blue eyes meet Rook’s gaze.

“Am I allowed?”

Jacob grits his teeth, swallows thickly before he nods. 

“This is the will of the Father. You are to fully recuperate.”

What the fuck?

“I’ll need to go get the necessary supplies. I didn’t know what to bring so I figured I would assess you and then get what was needed.” The doctor slings his stethoscope around his neck before pausing briefly. “One last thing. May I see your forearms?”

Rook extends them obediently, watching as the doctor holds his pulse points on either wrist and flips them until he can see the undersides. He seems to be looking for something, eyes narrowing on a bit of bruising on Rook’s wrist that looks black as opposed to blue or the sickly green of some of his older wounds. 

“Thank you, Rook. I’ll return in a moment with bandages and food. In the meantime, please finish that water and I shall bring more with me. Ideally we would have you on an IV drip but given the current state of things--”

He trails off and Rook can’t help but nod. The Seeds probably didn’t really anticipate needing IV anything while they were underground and it’s not like they can wander down to the nearest medical supply to get something. God only knows what’s going on above ground right now.

Rook’s actually, in this moment, more concerned with what the hell is going on right here in the bunker.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” He asks, a little softly, a little hopelessly as the doctor slides past Jacob and into the hall, leaving the two of them together.

Jacob squares his shoulders, seems to be trying to find the right words, and Rook notices he rubs the inside of his wrist on the side of his thigh for a moment. Nervous habit? He was pretty sure Jacob didn’t have any of those, was fairly certain the man hadn’t been nervous in long enough that he’d forgotten what it felt like. 

“Just...get better. We’ll explain everything. First you gotta...Doctor’s orders. Eat and rest.”

“Jacob, are you going to kill me?”

He needs to know. Needs to understand if this is just a gentle way of passing his soul along into the afterlife. He can’t imagine the Seeds were this gentle with the other people they weighed and found wanting, but maybe all the torture stained them. Stained their souls. And they think if they’re nice for a bit before they end it, God won’t think they’re fucking monsters.

Jacob _flinches_. Shoulders curling in for a brief second. His eyes are shuttered and distant and dark when they meet Rook’s gaze.

“No. No, we’re not going to do anything to you. Ever again.”

With that, he turns and leaves, Rook left staring at the closed door in his absence. Mouth hung open and nothing but white fuzz registering where brainwaves are supposed to be flowing.

What the actual _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?

.O.

Rook isn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’s been living the high life ever since whatever happened that suddenly made the Seeds go from cruel, capricious captors to halfway decent hosts. Eating the longlife food that doesn’t taste good but sits so heavy in his gut he barely got through the first few meals without nodding off to sleep. Drinking what feels like his own body weight in fluid. The doctor is a common visitor, seemingly Rook’s personal physician for the time being. He seems pleased with how well Rook’s recovering and he’s careful, very careful, to ensure that Rook is going at an acceptable but comfortable pace.

He gets to make his own decisions. He gets to say no if he doesn’t feel up to standing in the shower. Gets to tell the doctor to let him sleep a little longer if he doesn’t want to wake up for one of the numerous daily check-ins.

Rook doesn’t have the faintest fucking clue what’s going on but he’s not about to argue not getting the shit beaten out of him every day. 

He’s showering--something he gets to do _alone_ which is so novel now that he can’t help but hum quietly to himself as he does it--when there’s a sudden movement behind him. A quick open and shut of the door preceded by fast footsteps. Rook curls against the wall, backs behind the spray at the sight of a Peggie nervously hovering by the door to the showers, figuring all good things had to come to an end.

If it came down to it, he’s pretty sure he could take the kid. He looks like he’s early 20’s at best, thin and a little terrified as he tries to creep closer. But Rook’s exhausted and battered and he’d tried fighting back once, early on when he still hadn’t been beaten into submission.

That’s how his nose got broken and then forcibly reset all in the span of about five minutes.

“Uhm, ex-excuse me. You’re Rook, right? Deputy Rook?”

“I was.” Rook tries for nonchalance, shutting off the water and wrapping a towel around his waist as he steps forward, closer to the shaking mass of man. “What do you want?”

“I was--I was wondering if--” The man is clutching his forearm and Rook fears, for a split second, he’s going to have to fall back on old OD protocol.

He’s not sure how the fuck someone would get drugs into a bunker under the careful noses of the Seeds but Rook’s learned to never doubt someone’s willingness to get what they want. 

“What?”

The man steps forward and yanks his sleeve up, until Rook can see the tattoo that is scrawled in black script over the pulse in his wrist. It’s a name, one that he’s not familiar with, and he’s about to offer up his confusion when the man reaches out and grips Rook’s forearm so tightly he thinks he might leave bruises.

“She was--I took her. Took her from her family and gave her to Brother John. She didn’t--she wasn’t _pure_. All her sins were too deep to scrub out. And so she--she--and now she’s gone. And she was _mine_. And I was supposed to protect her but I didn’t know-- _I didn’t know_!” 

The man’s eyes are wild and glistening with tears and Rook doesn’t know whether to shake him off or pat his shoulder in support of the quickly oncoming breakdown. 

“But you--they hurt you. They hurt you and you’re still here and maybe--maybe she would forgive me? Maybe like you have? I just--I need to know--”

“Joshua.”

Joseph’s voice cuts through the shower room like a knife, sharp and commanding, just a touch of disappointment. The man lets go of Rook like he’s holding fire, gasping and turning to face Joseph before falling to his knees. His hands cover his face and Rook steps back as Joseph strides towards him, measured steps that stop just short of the shaking and sobbing mass. 

“I’m sorry, Father. I’m so, so sorry. I just--I wanted to know, I _had_ to know. I’m sorry!”

“Go back to your bunk. Discuss your fears with your brothers and sisters. None of you are to bother Rook during his recuperation period.”

Joshua scrambles off with a few agreements and barely hidden sobs, slamming the door behind him so hard Rook winces. Joseph sighs, pulling his gaze from the floor to Rook with a sort of resigned air to him. Like he’s a parent having to have a conversation he _really_ didn’t want to. 

“What the hell is going on, Joseph?” Rook asks softly when there’s no words, no sudden explanations given airtime. Just the stony silence, like two duelers staring down each other as the hands click over to noon.

“Dress. I will meet you in your room to explain. I believe...there is a discussion we should have had long before this. I had wanted to wait until after you had fully recovered but sadly, my hand has been forced.”

As Joseph leaves, Rook lifts his arm. The arm that Joshua had clung to like it was a lifeline, like it was something holy. The bruise he’d noticed a few days ago, during the first visit from the good doctor, hasn’t faded. Seems to be darkening, in fact. 

To the point where it almost looks like it’s going to be black ink too. Like Joshua’s.

He’d intended to take his time. Enjoy his shower and maybe wander around for a bit now that he’d been cleared to walk. Those plans are quickly squashed though, as he hurries through dressing and practically jogs back towards his room.

And hopefully, towards some answers.

.O.

Soulmates. 

Fucking _soulmates_. 

The things that Rook had only heard about in crappy romance novels and movie speeches in the rain for added drama. Except this is real life and there’s no rain and none of the Seeds seem the type to play a practical joke. 

“So--wait. How did this-- _when_?”

“Some of the faithful noticed them not too long after you’d come to stay here. It would seem that some appear quickly and others take longer. The name fades into view and then is permanent, resisting all attempts to wash it away.”

“Or tattoo over it.” John offers with a slight wince once Joseph stops talking, a hand awkwardly on the back of his neck. “We tried. It all just fades away and leaves the mark behind.”

“And how do you figure it’s soulmates?”

“I have been told. I asked and I listened and I was gifted with an answer.” Joseph’s eyes do that dreamy sort of thing where he’s not totally present in the world, hazy and unfocused. “The Voice told me that to rebuild the world, love was the only response. To offer kindness and love in the face of all the sin and hate. And so God would no longer allow us to stumble along blindly or try and create love with people He had not created to be the other half of our soul. He...intervened.”

Rook blows out a breath, leaning back against the wall near his bed and clenching his fists in the blanket over his lap. The Seeds seem to be waiting, somewhat patiently, glancing at him but not staring expectantly.

God. Soulmates are a thing. A thing that exists. Rook tries to force his mind past the fantastical rainbows of cheer at the thought and focus on the reality of it all. Joshua is a firm reminder, his panic and his tears, his _guilt_. 

How many people did the Peggies kill? How many names etched on wrists that were now the only vague reminders of lives lost in Joseph Seed’s mad scramble for power? How many people are on the outside looking at a name on their wrist and remembering someone lost to the cult’s influence?

God can’t simply expect everyone to forget everything and love someone because he commanded it. Because there’s a name on their wrist that people say they should accept as important. 

“Sounds like a big mess.” He says finally. “But I don’t have one. So not my problem.”

He’s still learning sentences. Trying to train his voice to actually be something other than a rasp in the back of his throat. But he sees the Seeds wince and he’s not sure if it’s because of his words or the reminder of what they did to him. 

“Yes. We spoke to Benjamin, the doctor who’s been treating you. He’s been keeping us updated on your mark. It would appear it is...different from others.”

Rook lifts his arm and pushes his sleeve back, frowning down at his wrist. It does look a little clearer than it did just a bit ago, lines a little more solid. Darker. But it’s nothing close to a name, more like just letters.

“Mine isn’t a name.” He guesses, watching as all the Seeds nod in unison like a lineup of bobbleheads. 

“So it would appear. We have heard a few reports of something similar and we think...perhaps…” Joseph trails off, thumb rubbing against the inside of his wrist as warning klaxons start to blare in Rook’s head.

No. No fucking way.

“Show me yours.” He snaps, demands so harshly it scrapes out of his mouth, gritted through his teeth. 

They all hesitate, John going so far as to tuck his arms against his stomach like he’s trying to protect them. Before Jacob utters a filthy curse and shoves his forearm out for Rook’s inspection.

Right there on his wrist. Clear and beautiful ink, even over damaged skin. Rook Wylde. 

He’s never so badly wanted a different name in his life.

“No.” He says softly, then again with more conviction when Joseph reaches to fold back the sleeve of his own shirt and John starts on the buttons around his wrist. “ _No_!”

“This is God’s will--” Joseph starts softly and Rook cuts him off with a snarl that’s more feral than anything Cheeseburger or Peaches ever made.

“No. You fucking _tortured_ me. You tried to kill me. You beat me and cut me and made me wish I was _dead_. And now you want me to _love_ you? You want to love _me_ now that I’m something to you?”

It hurts by the end of it. Hurts his throat so badly Rook is scared to clear his throat for the fear he’ll taste blood if he does. But it seems to get his point across, all of the Seeds going pale and shifting in their seat. Well, except for Jacob who’s glaring so hard at the ground, Rook almost thinks it might melt under the volcanic weight of the gaze.

“I will _never_ love any of you. God’s will or not. You have dug your grave and you can _die_ in it.”

Joseph is silent, John looks like he might have a panic attack at any moment. Jacob is quietly seething but there’s a weakness to the curl of his shoulders, like Rook’s words reared back and kicked him square in the balls.

“We will try and make up for our sins. Try and atone. And perhaps...in time…”

“No.”

“Rook,” Joseph seems to be pleading now, voice tight. “We did not know. If we had, if we had any indication of God’s plans--”

“Get out.”

John flinches and starts to rise immediately at his words, Joseph pressing his lips tight until there’s white around the edges of them. Jacob pushes to his feet and starts towards the door without glancing back, looking like a man on a march to his inevitable death. Joseph is quiet until it’s just them, until his brothers have slunk out with their proverbial tails between their legs.

“We will never stop. You are the other part of our soul. The piece that has been missing from our family all these years. We will not stop pursuing your acceptance. I hope...I pray that one day we will be able to properly live as God intends we should.”

“Get the fuck away from me.”

Rook sags against the wall once Joseph leaves. Stares up at the ceiling for a moment before hysterics start in his chest and bubble out through his mouth. Laughter for the first time in what feels like _ages_. 

He is the soulmate to Jacob, Joseph, and John Seed. They’re the other part of his soul and they _fucked it up_. Rook is the one person they’re supposed to love above all else and they screwed it up so royally they might as well have signed their own death certificates.

Rook prayed for help. For salvation. And now he has a _gift_. He has all the power, all the control. The Seeds are going to fall over themselves to try and make up for something they can never truly repent for.

He lifts his arm, peers closely at the mark on his wrist. If he squints, just so, he can see it. Neat and plain as day. The mark that gives him power, the one that gives him his life back. Two simply little letters.

J.S.

The old world is gone. Fallen to the ashes. But, for once, Rook can’t find himself to be upset about what was lost to fire. The new world is here and it is beautiful and it is more than anything he could have ever hoped for.

He has control now. And everything is going to change.


End file.
